


Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Love

by Mizmak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Ducks, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizmak/pseuds/Mizmak
Summary: Aziraphale believes that Crowley doesn't always pay close attention when he talks, and today he has something very important to say -- can he get his dear friend to listen?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	Partly Cloudy with a Chance of Love

It had started on the wall of Eden, Aziraphale recalled, when he’d been trying to explain the ineffableness of the divine plan only to find the demon wasn’t really paying attention. 

Crowley, he had learned over the millennia, was easily distracted, most often whenever Aziraphale wanted to explain something or express a lengthy opinion, or tell him all about a fabulous book he’d just read. The glazed look would come over his friend’s eyes, and he’d pretend to be listening by nodding absently now and then or making odd murmuring noises.

“Am I boring you?” he had bluntly asked on more than one occasion, miffed at Crowley’s distant expression.

“What? Oh, no, it’s fine. Whatever you said. Sorry.”

Which hardly made matters any more acceptable.

Not that he always did it, not by any means. Most of their conversations over the centuries had been two-sided affairs, just the right amount of give and take, equal partners in dialogues that had spanned every topic from fine dining to fine drinking to why anyone in the whole world had thought the crinoline was a good idea.

Still, there were those other conversations where _someone_ didn’t give his all. The ones where Aziraphale felt he’d been holding up his end quite nicely, thank you very much, while Crowley mentally wandered off into some other space where nothing mattered except his own self-interest.

Most vexing. 

“I’m sorry if my little explication of the history and culture of sushi consumption failed to hold your interest,” he had said once during a particularly trying evening some years back. “I merely thought it might make the meal more enjoyable.”

Crowley had poked his chopsticks at a Dragon Roll in a lackluster fashion and said, “What’s that? It’s interesting? Yeah, I like the name, anyway.”

He hadn’t heard a word Aziraphale had said. 

Yet when Crowley went on about anything, Aziraphale paid attention. Not that his friend was in the habit of making long speeches, but there were times, every now and then, when Crowley got a glint in his eye over something – some new recording by one of his favorite bands, or the new houseplant he’d just acquired, or how wonderfully well the Bentley was handling the road on a rainy day – and Aziraphale _listened_. 

He might not care as much about these topics as Crowley did, but he still paid attention, and did not drift off, and he remembered what was said.

If only Crowley would extend _him_ the same courtesy. Such a simple request – was it too much to ask?

One day, not long after saving the world, Aziraphale found out the answer.

“I want to go someplace different.”

Crowley raised one eyebrow. “Say what?”

They had habits. They ate out, they walked in St. James’s Park, they fed the ducks, they went to the bookstore, they drank. But Aziraphale had been thinking quite a bit lately about a lot of things, and had reached the decision that it was time for a change.

Or two.

One small change, one bigger one.

As usual, they had eaten lunch out that day, and as usual, Crowley had automatically assumed they would go for their stroll in the park afterwards, but Aziraphale stood firmly on the pavement outside the café and said, “We go to the same park every day. I want a change.”

“Oh. Yeah, all right.” Crowley shrugged. “Green Park?”

“Which is directly next to St. James’s. No. Someplace _different_.”

“How different? Am I driving, then?”

“Yes. I want to go to Hampstead Heath.”

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but apparently the determination that Aziraphale was doing his best to express put him off. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Get in the car, Angel.”

The drive did not take long, and they were soon strolling up the path to Parliament Hill. There was a light breeze, and the sun shone warmly in between banks of clouds rolling past, but they were white and puffy and utterly nonthreatening. A lovely time for a short stroll before sitting down for a long, important talk.

Aziraphale led the way to the viewpoint, where he found all the benches occupied, so he snapped his fingers to produce a tartan blanket when no one was looking their way. “Let’s sit down here for a bit.” He spread it out in a quiet space far from the paths and other people. 

Crowley sighed and dropped onto the blanket. “And why are we sitting here?”

“To look at the city, of course.” Aziraphale sat down beside him. The vastness of London spread out below the hill, partially blocked by the trees from their vantage point, but with still enough towering buildings in view, stretching across the horizon.

“Right.” Crowley gazed at the cityscape for all of ten seconds. “Okay. Done that. Now what?” He lay back then, stretched all the way out, hands behind his head.

Aziraphale sat cross-legged, looking out over the place he’d called home for centuries. A crowded, bustling, exciting city, yes. A place full of memories, a place where he had enjoyed the finer things that humans had to offer – restaurants, theatres, orchestras, other bookshops.

And it was also a dirty, noisy, overwhelming city that rattled his nerves at times, and left him yearning for a quieter pace of life.

“Do you ever think about how many people are packed into that small area?” he asked as he waved his arm across the vista. “Millions and millions of humans busily scurrying from their homes to their workplaces or to schools or to recreational spots and then back again, day after day, month after month, year after year, rushing about like ants, always so _occupied_ , and they’re everywhere you go – there is hardly a quiet spot anywhere anymore. Doesn’t all that hectic movement bother you? Haven’t you ever considered living somewhere else, somewhere more peaceful?”

He waited for a reply. It didn’t come.

Aziraphale looked over. Crowley’s eyes were hidden by his sunglasses, naturally, but he _seemed_ to be awake, looking upward as he lay there on his back. “I said, don’t you ever think about it?”

“Hm? What’s that?” Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale. “Right. Yes.” He turned back. “Did you notice that big cloud?” He pointed. “The puffy one over there. Looks like a duck.”

_Not paying attention again_. Aziraphale felt decidedly miffed. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not a flying one, a swimming one.” Crowley smiled. “I like ducks.”

He hadn’t heard a word. 

Aziraphale sighed. He tried to tamp down his irritation, because he had a big change to suggest, and damned if he wasn’t going to continue, no matter how disinterested his self-centered friend insisted on being. “It’s a very nice cloud.”

“Oh, hey, here come some more.”

The light afternoon breeze picked up a little, and the clouds moved across the sky, ever changing their forms. Crowley seemed quite happy to watch them. 

Aziraphale uncrossed his legs and brought his knees up, clasping both arms around them. He stared at the city below him some more, thinking about how much he loved it, and how much he wanted to get away from it, too. Not permanently – he could never leave his beloved bookshop behind. But he wanted – no, he _needed_ another place to be – a place of respite and repose. Someplace where the world with all of its cares did not intrude so harshly.

“Map of Europe,” Crowley said. “Looks like the boot of Italy there.”

More cloud formations. Honestly.

“Very nice.”

“And coming up behind it is a hawk.”

“A cloud that looks like a _hawk?”_

“Nah, a real hawk.”

Aziraphale looked overhead to see an actual bird, a quite large hawk, soaring high on the thermals. “Oh. How lovely.”

“Yup. Not so bad, this. Good suggestion.”

“Thank you.”

“Could do with a glass of wine, though.”

“I suppose I could miracle one up for you but is that truly necessary? Must you have a drink everywhere we go? This is a perfectly fine outing on its own without bothering about refreshment of that nature and I should think you could manage to relax without—“

“Oh, hey, look at _that_ one! It’s a snake!”

“What?” Aziraphale looked up at the cloud. Definitely reptilian.

“Maybe one of these will look like an angel.”

“Yes, well, you just keep at it, then.” There were plenty of white fluffy clouds rolling past one after another to keep Crowley entertained. And then Aziraphale realized that his friend had gotten distracted again, and had already forgotten about the glass of wine. _How did he do it?_ How did Crowley’s mind work, to flit so easily from one thing to the next without pausing to reflect?

Aziraphale sighed. Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to explain his new idea. It really did require Crowley’s full attention, because it involved him, and he would need to be focused enough to make a major decision about his life from here on.

Crowley would have to decide whether he was going to move too, to be with him, to stay close. 

He would have to decide just how much they were going to be _together_ in this new world of theirs.

But if not now, then when? 

“No angel yet,” Crowley said. “There’s one that looks like a big butterfly, though. Pretty close, if you ask me.”

“I _didn’t_ ask you,” Aziraphale snapped, and then instantly regretted it. “Sorry.”

“Hm? Angel? Butterfly? No?”

Aziraphale sighed. To Hell with it. There was never going to be a better time. “Crowley,” he began as he stared out over the tree line at the city, “I’ve been thinking about something for a while now, and I want to tell you what I’ve concluded. Basically, I’ve reached a decision about how I wish to live now that I’m no longer under Heaven’s command. And it’s going to affect you, so I do hope you pay _attention_. What I would like to do is to get away from the city. I’m tired of the hustle and bustle. Of course, I must retain ownership of the bookshop, because I shall still need a place to stay when I come up to town for the theatre or to dine at the Ritz. But most of the time, I’d like to stay in a quieter environment. A country cottage would suit, I think. Within a one or two hour drive of here. I’ve heard the South Downs area is quite pleasant, so it might suit nicely. Someplace in or near one of the small towns or villages there, somewhere quaint and old-fashioned and out of pace with this horrid modern insistence on being _busy_ all of the time. It would be nice if the village had a few amenities, of course, such as a decent café and a bakery, and perhaps a bookshop, though one can’t have everything, I suppose. And the cottage itself should be sort out of the way as well, with plenty of space between it and any neighbors.”

He paused to see how his explanation was going so far, and looked down at Crowley.

His friend had taken out his phone. He lay there, one arm behind his head, the other holding the devious device, his thumb scrolling across the screen.

Aziraphale nearly said a _very_ bad word. As he clenched his teeth, a momentary urge to smack the phone from Crowley’s hand passed through him, but he was an angel, and angels didn’t do that sort of thing.

Instead, he had an idea. Possibly not the most brilliant idea he’d ever had, but then, what did it matter if it was a horribly awful idea? Crowley would probably never hear it anyway.

It had to be said at some point, whether the idiot was listening or not.

Aziraphale turned away and continued on with his description of the ideal getaway cottage. “The cottage I’d like to live in should be cozy, and well appointed with antique furnishings. It should have a garden, a quite large one, I think, with fruit trees and flowering shrubs and herbs and perhaps a grape vine might come in handy. I might take up cooking, so a decent sized kitchen with modern appliances would not come amiss. I imagine a place with two bedrooms should suit, one can be turned into a library for my favorite books, and we can share the other, because I love you and I would naturally want to you to come with me, and I’m quite certain you’d enjoy gardening and if you want to bring your houseplants we can put up a greenhouse for them as they are a bit large and probably wouldn’t all fit in the house. What do you think?”

Then he turned to see Crowley staring steadily at his phone, thumb still moving rapidly.

_Oh, for Heaven’s sake_. 

“Dammit, were you listening to a _single_ word I said?”

Crowley’s thumb stopped moving. He lowered the phone and looked up with what Aziraphale could not quite call a smile – it was, instead, a familiar upward twitching of the lips in an expression of bemused affection.

“Needs a duck pond, Angel.”

Aziraphale blinked several times in a row, utterly thrown for a loss. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

And then Crowley did smile fully as he said, “Weren’t you listening? I said, our cottage needs enough room for a duck pond.”

He held up the phone, turning the screen towards Aziraphale. As he leaned over to peer at it, he saw pictures of cottages on a real estate site.

“South Downs, you said, right?” Crowley sat up, and pointed at one of the images. “This one looks promising. Want to go check it out tomorrow? And by the way, I’m rather fond of you, too.”

For a moment, Aziraphale was torn between throttling his best friend and kissing him. “I—you—when— oh, bollocks. I thought you weren’t paying attention. As you’ve been known to do.”

“Yeah, I know I do. But only when you’re on a tear about books or the latest musical you saw or why it was a crime for the gavotte to go out of style and all that stuff. Not when you say important things. And even with the rest, I’m listening – mostly. Yeah, all right, maybe I sort of edit out a lot as you go. I mean, you _do_ go on a bit at times.”

Aziraphale had to reluctantly admit that perhaps he did belabor a point now and then. “I don’t mean to bore you.”

Crowley tucked his phone away in his back pocket. “You’re not. You don’t. I like that you’re so enthusiastic about those things – I don’t mind _that_ much when you get so talkative. I like hearing the sound of your voice, Angel.”

“You do?” Aziraphale beamed at that.

“Always. It’s very pleasant. Sorry that I tune some of the words out at times. But I listen to the tone. If it changes, I notice. Which it did a minute or two ago.”

“Hm?” _Oh_. He’d nearly forgotten that he’d actually told Crowley he loved him somewhere in the midst of his lengthy description of the perfect home. “My tone of voice changed, did it?”

“Yeah. It went a bit softer.”

“I see.”

Crowley reached across the short distance between them to touch Aziraphale’s arm. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while now, yes?”

“About looking for a cottage? Yes.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

Aziraphale frowned. “How could you? This is the first time I’ve mentioned it to you.”

“Angel, I may not always hear every word you say, but trust me, I am paying attention to everything you do. I saw you every day over the past few weeks since the world didn’t end, and I noticed how worried you looked – even more than you usually do, and I noticed every time you let out a long sigh when walking along the city streets, and how tired you seemed at the end of the day.” 

Crowley’s hand briefly tightened on Aziraphale’s arm, and then he started lightly stroking it. “And I saw how you dropped things more often and bumped into bookcases and spilled your tea and muttered under your breath and I knew it was getting worse and I was just about to ask you what was wrong when you suggested coming up here.”

Aziraphale’s mind had gone somewhere else when Crowley began caressing his arm and he only half-heard his speech, and then he started guiltily. “Sorry. I should have known how much you cared.”

“Why? I never told you.” Crowley reached up to take off his sunglasses, setting them on the blanket. “Well, until today.”

“You’ve shown me, often enough.” He gazed into Crowley’s eyes, and saw nothing but the deepest affection shining out. “There are things worth paying more attention to than words, my dear.” 

Like a touch, a soft caress, or the untold small gestures Crowley had made over their long friendship that made him feel that he was deeply and steadfastly cared for. 

Aziraphale thought about making a long speech about love, about all of the ways he felt it in this world and about the singular way that stood far above the rest, the one sublime love that emanated from the one being he knew best, but sometimes – even if your dear friend was paying heed to every word – sometimes you didn’t really need to explain every little thing and so, in the end, he settled for pulling Crowley to him, silently, taking him into an embrace.

He wrapped his arms around Crowley, who returned the embrace, and they hugged each other tightly, at some length, their heads nestled together. Aziraphale closed his eyes, relishing the hold, and the feel of Crowley’s arms around him, his cheek against his own, their foreheads touching lightly as the breeze wafted through their hair and the sunlight warmed them through.

“Love you,” Crowley murmured, his breath tickling Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale leaned a bit away, not breaking the hold, just enough to see his friend’s expression. Crowley’s lips were twitched up again slightly, with that same bemused affection, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his angel.

“I love you, too.” Aziraphale could repeat that all day long. 

“Good, because apparently, we’re moving in together.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I honestly don’t believe we are at all compatible, of course.”

“No. Nothing in common, don’t have the same tastes, opposite temperaments. Total disaster in the making.”

“Indeed. However, opposites do often wind up complementing each other nicely, don’t you think?”

“Hm. You do have a point there.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “I believe we’ll manage to make it work.”

Crowley darted in for a quick kiss on the lips. “We will.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“Well, it didn’t last long enough. Please do it again.”

“All right.”

Crowley kissed him again, longer, and then a few times more for good measure. 

And that was enough, because this was all still new for Aziraphale and he felt perfectly happy simply being held, and simply holding on in what might by now be the world’s longest embrace, or at least, the longest one on top of Hampstead Heath on a warm day with a sky full of friendly clouds.

“Perhaps we could have that glass of wine now,” he said. 

They shifted a bit so Aziraphale could snap his fingers, producing two full glasses of merlot, and then they separated just a little so that he could raise his up in a toast. 

“To the future.” 

“To _our_ future,” Crowley replied.

They clinked glasses, and drank the wine down. 

After Aziraphale snapped the glasses away, they untangled themselves from the world’s longest embrace on Hampstead Heath on a warm day with a sky full of friendly clouds, and pulled each other up. The blanket vanished with another snap of the fingers.

Then they slowly strolled down the hill, with their arms wrapped round each other’s waists, as close as possible, closer than they had ever walked before. And as they walked, Aziraphale chattered away happily about their future plans at great and detailed length, and he was fairly certain that Crowley heard every word.

Or, at least, all of the ones that mattered.


End file.
